


The heart knows before the head

by itzteegan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Developing Relationship, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Dorian Pavus, Protective Iron Bull
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 12:37:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20115223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itzteegan/pseuds/itzteegan
Summary: During a fight against the Freemen in the Emerald Graves, Dorian uses the last of his mana to protect The Iron Bull instead of casting barrier over himself and an assassin takes advantage of the opening.





	The heart knows before the head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mozzarella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/gifts).

> Y'all in the Adoribull group need to slow the fuck down, I STG. Giving me way too many ideas. XD (Just kidding, I love you all)

Dorian sighed as he tossed another area spell at the group of glorified bandits. _Freemen of the Dales,_ they called themselves, to give off an inflated sense of importance, far more than they were truly due. Though that seemed to be par for the course for them, attempting to claim something to which they had no rights, hoping to claim by indignance and intimidation rather than by brute force. They were deserters from the army, men who found they couldn’t hack it and instead of buckling down and fulfilling their oath anyway, they tucked tail and ran and decided they were owed something. For what? For fleeing? For their cowardice? Dorian couldn’t quite understand, but then again he had no real wish to. These Freemen seemed to be in at least a loose alliance with the Red Templars, and so they’d put themselves on the Inquisitor’s hit list.

Jocelynn Trevelyan – his very, very distant cousin of some sort, he’d discovered – was intent on sussing out information on the Red Templars and their activity in the Emerald Graves, and whatever she put her mind to, she was going to achieve. So far, they’d ousted groupings of Freemen from a couple of different estates, snagging up caches and information along the way. There were still groupings of them scattered in the wild, however, and this particular group decided to try to ambush the Inquisitor and her companions.

Oh what a mistake that had been.

Joss was a rogue, herself, and knew what to look for, how to anticipate ambushes and how to counter them effectively. Instead of a scout-type of rogue like Varric and Sera who preferred bows – or crossbows – and arrows, she preferred to get up close and personal, brandishing poison dipped daggers and utilising stealth to get behind her opponents and strike at their vulnerabilities. With The Iron Bull and Blackwall up front to draw in targets, and Jocelynn to take them down from behind, Dorian was mostly playing backup, sending out area spells and throwing up barriers to help protect his friends and allies. Still, playing backup was still rather important, as it gave him a chance to survey the field and notice things that the others didn’t.

Like the assassin that was trying to sneak up on The Iron Bull.

He was sloppy, his stealth powder wearing off before he got too close to him. Cursing, he fumbled in his pouch for more and threw it on him, encasing him once more, but the stumble had been enough for Dorian to notice. No wonder he hadn’t been able to make it in an actual army, if he couldn’t even estimate how much powder to use. Still, even an incompetent enemy could do damage, and Dorian frantically, he tried to shout out a warning, but all three of his companions were involved in taking down other enemies, and with the noise in the heat of battle, his cry went unnoticed. Sweat began to gather at Dorian’s brow as he tossed out a spell, hoping to hit the would-be assassin, but unfortunately it seemed to miss as it hit other targets in the area and not the moving shadow that only he seemed to notice, a shadow that creeped ever onward toward the biggest member of the Inquisitor’s group.

Cursing under his breath, Dorian tried again to hit him, but the rogue must have been the luckiest damn man in the entire Graves as he was able to dodge the fireball thrown his way. Taking a deep breath, Dorian continued to track him, realising that his mana was getting low. He would only have one more shot at this, one last time to take out the assassin before he struck, because everyone else was far too focused on their own targets. The barrier around himself was starting to dissolve, and he needed to put it back up, but he wouldn’t have enough to do that and take out the assassin, and he didn’t even think as he let it dissolve away around him, focused only on the creeping shadow.

He only had one moment, a split-second where the man’s stealth powder wore off _again_, when he was posed to strike. While inept with the powder, he was at least smart about positioning and where to aim for, because he was going right for the spot where The Bull wore no armour. None of his companions saw it coming, Dorian was the only one who could prevent the takedown of one of their powerful warriors. His fingers tingled as time itself seemed to slow down, as the powder slowly wore off of the assassin, as he raised his blades to strike, the poison gleaming off of the sharp metal. With a cry, Dorian raised his hand and staff in unison, channeling what remained of his mana into a spell that froze the perpetrator in his tracks.

Literally.

Encased in ice, the man seemed to be making muffled cries of alarm, but he was unable to move or do anything to escape. The sudden rush of cold air seemed to alert The Iron Bull to the threat behind him, and he immediately swung wide with his battleaxe and cleaved the would-be assassin in two, shattering the ice and his body at the same time.

Their eyes met across the field of battle, and Dorian breathed a sigh of relief that his new friend and casual lover was fine. Though his mana was depleted and he would have to wait until it regenerated to be able to assist his companions, The Iron Bull was still up and fighting and uninjured and that was what was most important.

He only had a moment to celebrate, however, as The Bull’s face suddenly tightened and he opened his mouth to yell. Whatever he meant to say, however, didn’t quite reach Dorian’s ears, and the entire world seemed to narrow as cold metal sank into his ribs.

A far more competent assassin had bided his time and struck when Dorian’s barrier was done, and when his mana was depleted so far he didn’t have any left to defend himself with. As the Tevinter mage fell to the ground, he heard a loud, animalistic roar that seemed to shake the very forest itself before the assassin himself was ripped away by a hook and chain. Once again, time itself slowed down, until every heartbeat seemed like it lasted for an age and every pump of that organ brought a creeping ice further and further into his veins. Some sort of poison, no doubt, working its way through his body. If the wound itself wouldn’t kill him, the poison would, if he didn’t get help soon.

The next thing he remembered was seeing the face of his distant cousin looming overhead. Her lips were moving, though his hearing was so fuzzy he couldn’t quite make out what she was saying. She hefted his upper body into a mostly upright position and pressed a vial to his lips, and through his sluggish brain he was able to understand that she wanted him to drink. The liquid was vile and bitter and he coughed and sputtered, but he dutifully drank, his subconscious understanding that she was trying to help.

As much as he internally struggled, however, his memory kept blacking out, bits and pieces coming through only in snatches. His companions standing over them as Joss did her best to help. The sensation of being carried, of seeing the bright green of the forest passing overhead. Murmurs and hushed conversations of which he couldn’t understand because they all sounded garbled, like he was underwater. And cold, he felt so cold, though the temperature of the forest was quite temperate he was shivering like he was in the heart of the Frostbacks. He felt a weight cover him – a blanket? – and while he felt the heat from a nearby fire, it didn’t penetrate the cold that permeated him. _So, this is how it ends,_ he vaguely remembered thinking before he sank into unending blackness.

+

Little things started creeping through first, started to slowly lift him from his unconscious state. The crackling of a fire, the rustling of leaves, the soft patter of footsteps nearby, far too many to be only his companions. Dorian’s head pounded like it hadn’t since he’d indulged in all-night debauchery and hedonism back in Minrathous. Only difference was his ribs were sore instead of certain other body parts that normally would be after a bender of alcohol and men. His eyelids felt like they were held down with weights and he struggled to open them, having to blink heavily and slowly several times until the world around him finally came into focus.

Not that there was much to focus on in the small, makeshift room he found himself in. Three wooden walls had been erected around the fourth wall and the ceiling, which was just an outcropping of stone. Though it was otherwise nondescript, there was something about it that seemed familiar to Dorian, though his brain was sluggish and he found it difficult to concentrate enough to think.

“Hey,” a rather familiar voice greeted, and his eyes slowly traced to their source … to the large Qunari warrior sitting by his head. Dorian’s lips gradually widened in an involuntary grin, a subconscious response. “How are you feeling?” The Iron Bull asked, his eye narrowed in concern.

Dorian’s throat felt scratchy and raw, but he cleared it and then replied, surprisingly hoarse, “Like shit, Bull. What do you expect?”

The Bull snorted, shaking his head. “Jocelynn was worried about you. Blackwall only just convinced her to rest, herself.” The unspoken sentiment laid beneath his words, the subtext hidden for all but Dorian to see and understand. _I was worried, too_.

As his gaze wandered, he still struggled to put together the pieces of what had happened since the fight. “Where are we?” he asked slowly.

“Fairbanks’ camp. It was closest.”

Ah, that explained it, then. The rooms erected by the stone, using the land’s natural shape to form their camp, hasty though it was. Instead of working against the rock, they worked with it, enabling them to use less materials in their construction and exert less effort for more of a payoff, leaving them able to funnel the extra materials and labour into other projects that could use more attention. Dorian’s mind wandered as his head lolled on the limp pillow afforded by his sleep sack, the ice that had been permeating him turning into a burn. Not a painful one, however. Whatever Jocelynn had given him, it seemed to be working well enough. Too bad Solas hadn’t been there, he would have been able to help him even more immensely, and Dorian likely wouldn’t feel like he’d just been dragged through a mire by a nuggalope, but what was done was done.

The Bull was quiet for a little while, simply observing the mage as he laid there, until he finally broke the silence with, “Don’t do that again.”

“Hmm?” Dorian asked, slow on the uptake.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you did. You didn’t have your barrier up, which means you sacrificed what mana you had to freeze the assassin who tried to get to _me_.” Shaking his head, The Bull sighed as he told him, “Next time, don’t worry about me. I can take a knife and even poison far better than you can. I was _trained_ for it. You weren’t.”

Through the haze, Dorian felt like he was being unfairly scolded. “Well that’s a fine way to say thank you.”

The Bull sighed, taking a moment to put together what he wanted to say next. “I don’t mean to discount what you did. And don’t get me wrong, I _do_ appreciate not having a knife sunk in my ribs. But I’d gladly take it if it spared you. I’m _prepared_ for that.”

Reaching out, The Bull pushed aside a lock of hair that had stuck to Dorian’s forehead in a cold sweat, and in that moment, Dorian had a realisation. “You … you actually _care_ for me, don’t you, you big lummox?” That earned him a growl, but Dorian smiled. “And here I thought you only pursued me for my looks. Not that I could blame you, of course.”

A louder growl, and then, “Dorian, stop.”

“Stop what? I’m only making an observation …”

“Dorian, you almost _died_. If Jocelynn hadn’t had an antidote on her, you wouldn’t be here at all.”

The true gravity of the situation finally seemed to sink in for Dorian. He’d put so much faith in his companions that he’d never considered happenings outside of their area of control. Joss was always so confident, so sure in herself, and she inspired similar in her friends. When travelling with her, it felt like they could take on the whole world, and perhaps they could. But they weren’t perfect, they were still subject to the whims of the world around them, and if such a whim happened to be a skilled assassin, well … he considered himself extremely lucky that Jocelynn always believed in being prepared. He gulped as he realised just how close he’d come to dying, though at the same time he chose not to dwell on it. They had work to do still, and they wouldn’t be served by him moping about, dwelling on something that could have but didn’t happen. He would have to be better prepared, himself, carry extra potions on him to restore his mana. Joss tended to horde ingredients, he was sure she had enough to brew up some extra. That would have to wait until after he rested some more, however, as his head was still pounding and he didn’t quite feel like he could move just yet.

Turning his head toward The Bull, he murmured, “I appreciate you staying with me.”

Even as his eyes closed once more, he felt thick fingers run through his already mussed hair. “Of course, Kadan,” was the whispered reply, so low that surely The Iron Bull hadn’t truly meant it for his ears, but he’d picked it up anyway.

After they finished up their work here, they would have a lot to talk about once they were back at Skyhold. Long, uncomfortable conversations that neither of them truly wanted to have but that needed to happen anyway. For now, though, Dorian could simply soak in this moment for what it was and leave everything else at the door. The Iron Bull was no longer Tal-Vashoth, no longer a trained Ben-Hassrath agent and Dorian was no longer an Altus of House Pavus, bound for a position in the Magisterium upon his father’s death. No, instead they were just two men who cared for each other in different and varying ways, some that they expressed and some that they deferred and refused to acknowledge. They would have to, of course, at some point. Indeed, the end of the trip would signal the end of a casual relationship for them, but whether that would be the end of their relationship entirely or if it would give way to something else, Dorian couldn’t say. He knew better than to hope for more.

But this once, just this once, he fervently wished for it to be true.


End file.
